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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22663705">Ashes of Eden</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorothycanfly/pseuds/dorothycanfly'>dorothycanfly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Billy Hargrove Being Gross, First Time Blow Jobs, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Season/Series 03, Self-Medication, The Upside Down, canon compliant (to a point), developing relationship (flashbacks)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 15:46:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,476</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22663705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorothycanfly/pseuds/dorothycanfly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy died, and there wasn't even a body to bury. So Steve buries himself in grief and tries to lock the world out.<br/>Until the world climbs through his window and pours hope into his open wounds.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. i. Will the faithful be rewarded when we come to the end?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This started as a little drabble/oneshot I could tinker with when I get stuck on my other fic, and then it got way out of control and now I have to write it.<br/>I hate my brain. x</p><p>Title and chapter titles from Ashes of Eden by Breaking Benjamin because I'm still an emo baby.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Whoever keeps ringing that goddamn doorbell needs to get fucking shot. The shrill sound scrapes across Steve’s hungover brain like a cheese grater. No one else is gonna answer the door, he’s home alone. He’s always alone. Everyone knows that. So whoever keeps ringing the bell is looking for him. Unfortunately for them, there’s no one Steve wants to talk to, so he just stares at his bedroom wall until the ringing and the pounding on the door finally stops. He rolls over to his other side and pulls the sheets over his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not prepared for the -clunk- by the open window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His whole body locks up for an agonizing second. Two frantic beats of his heart later he rolls himself off the bed and onto the carpet, reaches for the crowbar he keeps propped up by the headboard. The cold metal and awkward weight feel wrong in his hand, but it’ll have to do. He doesn’t have time to miss his bat, to remember when and how it got splintered, because he’s scrambling to his feet and gets ready to take a swing. Instead of darkness and claws and tentacles, though, he sees the tell-tale top of a ladder jutting out past his windowsill. Monsters don’t use ladders. And the last person who climbed up to his window-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-well, he never used a ladder, did he? Scaled the wall like the maniac he was and tapped at the glass, whispered </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘little pig, little pig, let me in’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>until Steve got up and yanked him through by the collar of his shirt. So it can’t be him. Also he’s-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-dead. So it’s not him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which means it’s Dustin. Steve tosses the crowbar on the bed with a sigh and leans through the window just as the curly head pops into view. Dustin gives a startled yelp as Steve digs both hands in the front of his shirt and hauls him into the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Steve?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re lucky I didn’t cave your head in, Henderson,” he growls back. “This is breaking and entering.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then answer your goddamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>door, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you asshole. Let go of me.” He slaps Steve’s hands away and stretches up to his full height, still a good ways shorter than Steve but with a withering look of indignation to make up for it. “You look like shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You crawled through my window to tell me that? Great, message received. Now leave.” Steve reflexively runs a hand through his hair, feels how greasy it is. He’s also acutely aware of his week’s worth of stubble. Dustin’s face shifts slightly to make room for a tiny sliver of worry. He takes in the dark purple circles around Steve’s eyes, as if the months of insomnia had punched him two permanent bruises. He crinkles his nose and Steve knows he can smell the room despite the open window. Stale smoke, unwashed clothes, bedding soaked with sweat from so many nightmares, takeout boxes half finished because he eats out of habit before he remembers he’s not hungry. The boy’s eyes dart over to the bedside table where Steve knows there’s an overflowing ashtray with half of last night’s joint still balanced on top, and two mostly empty vodka bottles. He’s barely ashamed, there’s only a distant sting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve,” Dustin tries again, his voice softer this time. “You gotta snap out of it, man. Everyone’s worried about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, don’t be. I’m an adult so I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>gotta </span>
  </em>
  <span>anything. And as long as my </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual </span>
  </em>
  <span>parents are cool with letting their fuck-up of a son live here rent-free and don’t even expect me to hold up a job or go to college, I don’t see why it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>goddamn business what I do with my days.” He holds open the bedroom door and gestures at Dustin. “Now leave. Through the front door, please, like an actual fucking human.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just give me an hour.” He’s almost pleading. “You take a shower, I’ll make coffee and try to find something edible, and once you’ve sobered up we talk. One hour. Please, Steve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddamnit Henderson, I don’t need your fucking welfare checkups!” Steve kicks the door so hard the doorknob slams a dent into the wall. The shelf above his bed rattles and three dust-flecked paperbacks tumble down. Dustin is frozen in place, eyes wide. He looks so young like this. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>young, damnit. He’s a freshman, he started high school a few weeks ago. Steve feels centuries old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a hard little marble of guilt settling in his stomach. Before it can take root on all the other bullshit Steve carries with him, he walks out the room. He’s sure Dustin will follow, just like he always did. Because Dustin is still looking for a version of Steve that never made it out of the inferno at Starcourt, and he’s not gonna stop digging until he finds the bones. So Steve will show him right where to dig.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not the only one who lost someone that day, you know!” Dustin yells after him as he descends the stairs. When Steve doesn’t answer, he hears footsteps rush out of bedroom. “Steve! Motherfucker, stop running away and listen! We all lost people. There’s hardly a family in Hawkins who didn’t lose someone to the Mindflayer. The whole town is lost and miserable, there were </span>
  <em>
    <span>thirty-two </span>
  </em>
  <span>funerals, everyone is grieving.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your point, Henderson?” Steve yells over his shoulder in his best who-gives-a-shit voice. “Are you gonna hit me with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>misery loves company </span>
  </em>
  <span>or some inspirational shit like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Stop calling me Henderson.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dustin is fuming now, Steve can tell. He lets the boy catch up with him by the front door. “My point is that you’re a selfish jerk who acts like he has a monopoly on sadness and I’m sick of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great pitch,” Steve laughs hollow. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear, I feel so much better. Are you done?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are insufferable,” Dustin sighs. “But your friends miss you, Steve. You have people who care about you and you shouldn’t shut them out. We can help you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” There’s a cruelness in his voice he hasn’t heard in years. “What are you getting out of it? You need a ride to the arcade? Joyce in need of a babysitter? Did they build a new movie theater I gotta sneak y’all kids into?” The wave of pain that washes over Dustin’s face is almost too much, but Steve keeps his eyes cold and empty as he leans against the door. He needs Dustin to give up so he can crawl back into his room and be alone until time ends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because- motherfucker...” Dustin wipes at his wet eyes. His voice cracks when he says, “Because we care about you, you fucking jackass. That’s how friends </span>
  <em>
    <span>work. </span>
  </em>
  <span>We want to help you because you are in pain and we are in pain and </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything sucks so much, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and being with the people you love is the only thing that makes sense anymore.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “One hour. Coffee. Talk. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Steve. It’s important. I swear we can make it better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you can’t.” Steve turns the knob and pulls the front door open. It’s an unusually sunny fall day. The brightness of the turning leaves is almost painful. A numb and speechless Dustin lets himself get shuffled out the door. “You can’t fix this. No one can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave me alone, Dustin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve, wait!” He closes the door and locks it. Immediately there’s a long ring of the doorbell. Steve leans his back against the door and waits for the ringing to stop, for the sound of footsteps on the gravel to get distant and then stop completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s still standing by the door, wondering if he can disable the doorbell somehow, when the hears the -thump- upstairs. He stares up at the top of the stairs in disbelief. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Surely not... </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He barges up the stairs in three seconds and bursts into his bedroom just as Dustin lands back on the carpet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should have taken the ladder away first, asshole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Henderson-” he takes three angry steps towards the kid and never sees the punch coming. Dustin clocks him one right in the jaw. Closed fist, swing from the hip, right on the mark. He’d be proud if he wasn’t counting stars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One, stop calling me Henderson,” he commands as he shakes out his hand. “Two, I’m done asking nicely. So you are gonna sit your ass down and listen to me. The others warned me I shouldn’t push this on you if you weren’t ready and that maybe we should wait until we were sure, but I’ve had it. I’m sick and tired of worrying about you and you shutting me out. So we’re gonna try something new today. Shock therapy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no. You sit. I talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Steve sits down on the bed, still cradling his sore jaw. Dustin eyes the crowbar behind him and gingerly pulls it away, places it in the farthest corner of the room on a pile of dirty laundry. That’s definitely not a good sign, if he has to make sure Steve doesn’t have a weapon nearby when he tells him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hopper is alive,” he whispers. Steve’s chest goes empty and quiet as his heart drops straight to the floor. “He’s alive and El found him. She got him home last night. They’re both pretty beat up but they’re gonna be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dustin, please don’t…” Steve wheezes. He’s doubled over, vision pulsing, stomach pumping up bile. His heart has reappeared and is pounding against his ribs like a fist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember what we talked about in July, right after it happened? There were two empty coffins. Two bodies that were never recovered. And now we’ve found one of them, alive. El was </span>
  <em>
    <span>right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She’s been looking for them non-stop, which you would have known if you’d been there with us.” There’s still residual anger in his voice, but Steve feels the bed dip as Dustin sits down next to him. He hovers, but there’s no touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve? Are you still here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wants to say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, I’m a whole world away. I’m in a burning mall, watching the life drain out of the boy I loved and I’m helpless. I’m standing over his grave, knowing that there’s not even a body in there. I’m in his car and we’re driving as far away from fucking Hawkins as we can and still be back in time for class. I’m in this bed and he’s tumbling through the window and into my arms and he tastes like blood when we kiss. I wake up alone and he’s gone, gone, gone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve.” Dustin’s voice reaches him through the blinding cloud of panic. “El thinks she has found Billy. He’s in the Upside Down. We’re gonna try to get him out.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. ii: Will I miss the final warning from the lie that I have lived?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>How it started.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Billy had happened to Steve like a tidal wave. Just when everything seemed to be disappearing and the sand under his feet started to shift, Billy had thundered over him and swept him out to sea. Steve had barely gotten a warning. He never stood a chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s what Billy would whisper in the darkness and safety of Steve’s bedroom, while he lapped at the sweat pearling on Steve’s skin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh baby, you never stood a chance.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>And Steve would sink his teeth into Billy’s biceps until he hissed, would squeeze his legs around Billy’s waist to draw him closer, deeper, and whisper back </span>
  <em>
    <span>“shut up and fuck me like you mean it, Hargrove.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>And Billy would chuckle, and mumble something like yes princess, and then snap his hips forward until Steve keened like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>girl.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Two weeks after that disastrous night at the Byers, they’d gotten into another fight in the school parking lot. Not that it was much of a fight: Steve had approached Billy from behind, tapped him on the shoulder, and punched him square in the face. And Billy hadn’t hit him back. Hadn’t even tried. So Steve had taken a second swing, more rage and less accuracy, but still enough to catch him on the side of the head where the bruising hadn’t fully healed yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl at the next car over had screamed, in the distance he’d heard a few boys whooping, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harrington and Hargrove are at it again! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Billy had stared at Steve while about a dozen different emotions cycled across his face. In the end he just tongued the blood away from where his lip had split and said </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll let you have that one, pretty boy.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> They’d both turned around and gotten in their respective cars to the sound of so many disappointed jeers, and Steve’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking until well after he'd gotten home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three days later, Billy had tripped him during basketball practice and Steve had ripped the skin off of both his knees as he went skidding across the gym floor. The next day, Steve threw an elbow when Billy was marking him and Billy had to leave the court with a bloody nose. Billy took to body-slamming Steve into the lockers when he’d pass him in the hallways and grin </span>
  <em>
    <span>“sorry, Harrington, I tripped.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Steve once kicked the leg out from under Billy’s chair when he was leaning too far back during English class and sent him crashing to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things had changed another month later at a party, when Billy had shown up already drunk, and more importantly, already bleeding. They’d gotten into it again, but half-heartedly. Shoved each other around out back by the keg, knocked into each other in the kitchen, but neither seemed willing to throw the first punch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night had somehow lead to Billy dragging Steve into Gwen Anderson’s bathroom and locking the door behind them. After an exchange of taunts and curses with no real fire behind them, Billy slurred in Steve’s ear </span>
  <em>
    <span>“My dad beats my ass because I’m a fag. So you better stay away, Harrington. God forbid I corrupt you.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Then he’d crashed their mouths together, not so much a kiss and more digging his teeth into Steve’s bottom lip until he drew blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve recoiled from the sting. When Billy turned to leave, Steve had spun him around by the collar of his leather jacket and slammed him into the door. He’d never seen that look on Billy’s face before, the odd mix of fear and resignation. Like he was waiting for a punch he knew he deserved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had pressed his mouth to Billy’s, soft this time, and licked his way inside. When he buried his hands in the golden curls, Billy had melted into his arms. They’d kissed for a long time, pressed against the bathroom door while the party raged on outside, the coppery taste of blood from Steve’s throbbing lip slowly fading. When they finally pulled apart, Steve had mumbled </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m afraid that ship might’ve already sailed, Hargrove.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no turning back after that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They still pushed each other around in school, but now it became an excuse to get their hands on each other. Every reason to grab Billy by his shirt and slam him into a wall was good enough, knowing that he'd get a whiff of his cologne, a brush of skin on skin, a quick press of an already half-hard cock against his thigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t that different from sneaking around with a girl, Steve found. Except that no one could find out, obviously. So they’d bare their teeth at each other in the hallways between classes and then meet up in the boy’s bathroom to frantically make out. They’d call each other every name in the book, and after school Billy would pull him under the bleachers and whisper the sweetest things in his ear, call him </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretty </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby </span>
  </em>
  <span>while he worked a warm hand under Steve’s sweater to paw at his sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went a million miles an hour and Steve found he didn’t want it to stop. He let Billy sweep him up and pull him out of his bullshit life. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>too much </span>
  </em>
  <span>of it all gave him something to hold on to. He wasn't prepared to catch feelings, however, and by the time he figured out he was falling for Billy it was too late to brace himself for the inevitable impact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A distant part of Steve wondered if Billy pushed this </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>between them along at such breakneck speed to make sure Steve didn't have time to second-guess himself. Billy never wanted to talk, always made sure his mouth was busy kissing or licking or biting. And whenever he could feel Steve starting to think too hard, he'd throw him off by doing something totally unfair like cupping Steve's dick through his jeans and humming </span>
  <em>
    <span>"I can't wait 'til you'll let me get my mouth on this, pretty boy" </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the blood flow to Steve's brain would instantly be cut off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn't take long for Billy to put his money where his mouth was. One lazy Saturday afternoon he got Steve under him on his bed, Billy's weight pressing him into the mattress. They'd been making out for so long Steve's lips felt bruised but he didn't ever want it to stop. Billy had tangled their fingers together and seemed to be mapping every inch of Steve's mouth with his tongue, slowly but searing. They both pretended like they didn't notice the other one's painfully hard erection as they rocked their hips together. It was a game, to see who would crack first and suggest they do something about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy let Steve win, which was still a rare occurrence back then. He sat up with a mischievous smile and purred </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Let me blow you, Harrington." </span>
  </em>
  <span>He didn't phrase it like a question but it still sounded like one to Steve. And he also didn't miss the flash of doubt in those sky blue eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Steve nodded, way more nervous than he should have been. He'd gotten blowjobs before, he was far from a blushing virgin. But this was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>boy, </span>
  </em>
  <span>his first boy, and the one he'd been jacking off to for weeks now. Billy wasn't exactly subtle about the fact that he had way more experience with these things and Steve once again wondered why Billy was in such a hurry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Steve lost his footing again. Because Billy worked his pants and boxers down, and of all the things Steve had braced for, he wasn't prepared for the way Billy sat back and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>stared. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He didn't even touch Steve for a good long while, just swept his gaze over Steve's naked body in such a quiet, reverent way that made a blush spread all the way down his chest. Then Billy ran two hands up and down Steve's chest, so soft and gentle, along his ribs, to his hips, his thighs, pushing his knees apart. Steve closed his eyes when Billy wrapped a hand around his cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Look at me." </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not an order. Almost a plea. He opened his eyes to see the endless blue staring back at him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Keep looking at me." </span>
  </em>
  <span>Billy dipped his head low without ever breaking eye contact. The tip of his tongue swirled over the head. Steve almost lost it right then and there. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"That's right, baby. Eyes on me." </span>
  </em>
  <span>He licked his lips and swallowed Steve down in one long, slow pull. Needless to say he didn't last long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy let him come in his mouth. He basically insisted. He also kissed Steve right after swallowing, which was gross and astounded Steve with how much he liked it. He liked it almost as much as the look of shock and the brilliant smile on Billy's face when Steve, after catching his breath, rolled them over and started kissing his way down Billy's stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd never sucked a dick before. He was nervous, he wasn't careful with his teeth, he couldn't take him very deep. Billy didn't seem to mind. He came after barely a minute, under a constant stream of </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck shit yes pretty boy fuck fuck fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He had tried to pull Steve off before he came, but Steve had dug his fingers into Billy's hips and stared up at him with a searing look. Challenge met.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy tasted salty and bitter. He smoked too much. Steve couldn't care less. He crawled back up and they fell into a tangled mess of limbs and sticky skin and they kissed until they fell asleep on their post-orgasm bliss. Something warm and familiar and uninvited crept into the room and made a home for itself in the space under Steve's heart. By the time he woke up, he would start thinking about Billy Hargrove as his </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriend. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
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